


Spokes: A Collection

by die_traumerei



Series: Bike Girls [13]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Autistic Aziraphale (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Body Worship, Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, F/F, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Injury Recovery, Oral Sex, Soft Crowley (Good Omens), Useless Lesbians
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 14:20:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30073536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/die_traumerei/pseuds/die_traumerei
Summary: All my bike girls stories written for challenges and the like, collected in one place!
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Bike Girls [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1997386
Comments: 18
Kudos: 14





	1. Femslash February 2021, prompt: book

**Author's Note:**

> This is all the stories that are so short I feel justified in collecting them together :) Tags and ratings will be updated as stories are added.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley is finally writing Aziraphale into one of her books.

_Anna ducked her head, hiding her face from the others, for she was sure she was blushing a deep red. She fussed with the edge of her apron, and forced her hands to be still; it wouldn't do to fidget so obviously._

_William Yoder! Oh, he was kind and handsome, a good man. His harnesses were the best in the state, and his business was secure, something for them to build a life on. And he was_ kind _. To everyone, but especially to her, she sometimes thought._

“Tea's up,” came Aziraphale's call from the kitchen. “Shall I bring you a mug?”

Crowley smiled at her screen, pleased with the last few hours' work. “Nah, I need to move around.” She pushed her office chair back and hoiked herself out of it. An unfortunate incident in a friend's garden involving mud, a chicken, and a copy of Luther's 95 theses had resulted in her wrenching her ankle something awful. Keeping it tightly wrapped up and generally taking it easy was all that seemed to be needed, at least. And, from time to time, actually walking on it – well, limping.

(The rest of the time Crowley cheerfully scooted around in her office chair until Aziraphale rolled her eyes.)

“Good work?” Aziraphale asked, greeting her with a kiss and a fragrant mug.

“Very good,” Crowley said, leaning against the counter. “Anna's pretty well in love by now, just got to artificially separate them based on the thinnest of excuses, and bring them back together with a convenient carriage accident.”

Aziraphale gloated, for she was finally getting her dearest wish – Crowley was writing _her_ into one of her Amish romance novels. Anna, in addition to sharing initials, had some of Aziraphale's looks, her stims and – eventually – the broken wrist that had lead to her and Crowley meeting and falling in love.

“Good girl,” she approved.

“Me or Anna?” Crowley asked, bemused.

“Yes,” Aziraphale said, and sipped her tea, going over to sit at the table. “Oh, Anathema asked me to cover for her at the shop tomorrow, she and Newt got given tickets to a matinee in London. Want me to pick up tea from the chippy on the way home?”

“Mmm, probably for the best,” Crowley said. “I'll have the leftover pad thai for lunch, not like there's really enough for two.” She stretched a little, and scratched her leg thoughtfully. “Can you pick up a little cream too, please? I want to make scones.”

“I'll swing by the Tesco,” Aziraphale promised, and smiled at her. “Ankle all right?”

“Still attached,” Crowley said cheerfully. “It really is, though.” She stretched her leg out, foot up on a spare chair, and smiled in satisfaction. “We should go for a walk later.”

“You just want to show off your cane,” Aziraphale said dryly. “But all right, darling, a short one.”

Plans settled, Aziraphale enjoyed her tea, and the homey conversation. The homey _everything_ , wonderfully intimate. She'd spent last night in her flat, revelling in solitude – to say nothing of tidying her bedroom a bit – and would spend tonight with Crowley in her bed. Perhaps making love, perhaps not; they'd see how the wind blew. And tomorrow Crowley would write more of her book, and Aziraphale would get to read it first and try to catch all the references – flattering and otherwise – to herself, and it would be _lovely_.

Their evening was all Aziraphale could have wanted and more. She made a quick tea; her spag bol wasn't exactly going to win prizes, but it was hearty and good and filling. They went for a walk together around their pretty little neighbourhood, Crowley showing off her snake-headed cane and Aziraphale pausing to chat with one of the bookshop regulars. Then back home to cuddle in the living room, Crowley with her phone and Aziraphale with her book.

She helped re-wrap Crowley's ankle after a shower (goodness knew they had enough medical gear on hand to outfit a small field hospital at this point), and they snuggled down for some lazy kissing and caressing. Not quite sex, but – intimacy, Aziraphale decided, as she traced a fingertip around Crowley's nipple and watched it harden. Simple, lovely intimacy.

“Do you like your Amish avatar?” Crowley asked, for Aziraphale had read over what she'd written that day.

“Yes! I can't wait to read more. Will it be very thrilling?”

“Incredibly so,” Crowley promised, and kissed the tip of her nose. “Did I get your stims and stuff right?”

“Oh, love. Yes, of course. You know my tells as well as I do now,” Aziraphale assured her, rubbing Crowley's belly. “I wonder if anyone else will figure out that she's autistic?”

“I need to write some straight romance. I mean, not-Amish,” Crowley grumbled. “Write an autistic heroine for real, you know?” She nosed Aziraphale's collarbone. “Write how she's interesting and funny and cute, and how she falls in love, and how someone falls in love with her?”

“Oh, honey. That would be amazing.” Aziraphale gave her a little hug. “Have you ever written lesbian romance?”

Crowley shook her head. “There's not as much market,” she admitted. “And I don't know...I like having that be personal, y'know? If I got the right idea, I guess I'd pitch it, but taking a step away from my real life...I feel freer?”

“I don't know exactly, but I think I understand,” Aziraphale said after a moment of thinking. “And anyway, you're the one writing, you should do as you like.” She grinned and tapped the edge of the bandage where it wrapped around Crowley's calf. “Although I _have_ noticed that your characters are a bit disaster-y.”

“Well, yeah. Gotta put all that first-hand medical knowledge to use!” Crowley said cheerfully, and Aziraphale laughed and snuggled closer, and Crowley pulled the duvet up to cover them, and turned the lights off, and they kissed in the warm darkness, happy, ordinary, impossibly content and in love.


	2. Femslash February 2021, Prompt: Fast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aziraphale tries to go fast, in her own way. And in which Crowley is the most obnoxiously lovable cheerleader in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: offscreen character injury

“You go too fast for me, Crowley!” Aziraphale called, pedalling as hard as she could.

Crowley slowed up immediately, dropping back so that she and Aziraphale could ride side-by-side. “Shit, I'm sorry.”

“It's fine,” Aziraphale puffed. “Sorry about your fat bird of a girlfriend.”

“Oi. Stop. Pull over here,” Crowley said immediately, and she looked...not _mad_ , not exactly. Not like Gabrielle used to look. But upset.

They turned into the entrance to a farm, a little gravel inlet, and Crowley took her helmet off, still straddling her bike, and hung it on a handlebar before holding her arms out. “C'mere. I love you. Yeah, well, I'm sweaty and gross too, we have that in common. Angel, love. Don't...you never, ever have to apologise to me. I love your body, and I love your you.”

“Um, sorry,” Aziraphale said, wishing desperately that being held in Crowley's wiry arms wasn't unbelievably comforting. “I don't...know why I say those things.”

“Because you've been trained to say them, is my guess.” Crowley rubbed her back. “Listen to me, you never apologise for being mine. I cannot _believe_ I get a gift like you. This is really important to me, okay? You being able to cycle fast isn't important. Not even a little bit.” She smiled and drew back, and kissed Aziraphale. “Also, being quite frank, it's that antique of a bike that's slowing you down,” she teased.

“I love my bike!”

Crowley laughed. “So do I – what else would I be able to tease you about so much?”

Aziraphale blinked at her. “Have you...met me? No, I mean, of course you won't tease me about serious stuff, I know _that_. But my deep and abiding love for Antiques Roadshow is fair game.”

Crowley laughed even harder. “Yeah, but the bike is an easy one. Not that I don't love it too – I adore this sturdy old thing, it brought us together.”

“Technically, a poorly-maintained road did,” Aziraphale said, just to be a shit, and she got a kiss for it. “I take my earlier words back, but also can you go a little slower, _please_?”

“Of course. I'm sorry, dove. You set the pace from here on,” Crowley promised.

Aziraphale smiled shyly. “And when we get back – can we talk about buying me a lighter bike? I won't give this one up, but it might nice to...to try something else.”

“All that _and_ I get to be a gearhead? Yes, please!” Crowley laughed and kissed her one more time. “I love you. Wrist okay?”

“Crowley, it's been six months!” Aziraphale was giggling though, as they set off – and she set the pace. “Of course it's fine. Your foot all right?” she teased, and Crowley grinned.

“Fair enough.” She patted Aziraphale on the back as they returned to tackling the hill, and then enjoying the descent on the other side.

_One Year Later_

It had been the best surprise. Okay, it wasn't much of a race, but it was, technically, a _race_ and Aziraphale had entered without telling her girlfriend until she realised she both needed to start training and also kind of needed a ride to the starting line.

In hindsight, she should have _never_ told Crowley, for Crowley was literally the most obnoxious supporter ever in the history of all time. She cooked special meals and gave Aziraphale massages and went on training rides and cheered and bought swag and was basically operating at a level that would make a Le Tour cyclist blush, let alone a middle-aged woman who was doing the riding equivalent of a turkey trot 5k. She was sort of glad she'd decided this would be her first and last race; Crowley was adorable but also deeply, _deeply_ embarrassing.

Still, it was the day of the race and Aziraphale was as ready as she could be, finally getting away from her girlfriend (who would be cheering from the sidelines in what was admittedly a rather cute little cheerleader fancy dress outfit because _of course_ ) to find her place on the starting...well, corral. She nodded hello to a few women she knew from group rides, and tried not to be too nervous. It was for fun; she wasn't planning to win anything, just to prove she could _do it_ . She was on her new, lighter bike, and she _could_ get pretty fast on it...

They'd studied the route beforehand and even cycled it once or twice, so Aziraphale knew exactly what was coming, where the hills were, where the flats and the turns and things were. She was...fine. Not the fastest, but not the slowest, and she was happy in the middle of the pack, doing quite well, she thought, for her age and fitness. She was _proud_ , that was it. She was proud of herself!

Besides, she could always make up time at the end – the race ended with a long descent to the finishing line, and she was good at those, tucking herself down and _going_ . Aziraphale never loved fast descents, but she'd promised herself she would do everything right this time, while promising Crowley that _of course_ she'd be careful and safe and all that.

Just once, just the once – she wanted to go fast for her girl.

Everything was just as she'd planned as she started the descent, tucking low and careful of her spot in the pack, picking up speed now, everyone ready for the end – and she saw the woman in front of her go down, far too fast to stop, and had only enough time to think _bugger_.

_One day later_

“She's pretty banged up,” Crowley said. “But she'll be fine. The break in her wrist is really clean, no surgery or anything. Same for the one in her foot. And she just needed a few stitches.”

“Oof. Same wrist as last time?” Newt asked sympathetically.

“Nope, other one,” Crowley said. “Actually, I'd better get four croissants, she really loves 'em. But yeah, it wasn't fun for anyone. My disaster girl, she's the only one with fractures.”

“Oh no, unlucky,” Newt said. “Poor lass. Anathema said if I saw you to make sure she knows she can take as much time off from work as she needs?”

“Promise,” Crowley said. “I'm making her rest. I'm so proud of her,” she gloated. “She was going so fast, I really think she'd've won it, although she swears I'm mad to say such things. But you should've seen her! Really, really impressive cycling.”

“I'm sorry I missed it,” New said, and added an extra cake when Crowley was getting her wallet and not looking. “Right, there's your pastries, a large coffee and a large honey lavender latte with whip cream.”

“Bless you,” Crowley said, paying and collecting her booty for the short walk to Aziraphale's flat, where her girlfriend had _better_ be resting in bed and ready for treats. If not, at least Crowley knew where the fuzzy restraints were.


	3. Femslash February 2021, Prompt: Delicious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both Crowley and Aziraphale have things they think are delicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Explicit/NSFW text at the end!)

Crowley had a new past-time. It consisted of finding really, really nice things for Aziraphale to eat and watching her eat them. It was the best past-time in the entire universe, she believed.

That was why they were in Istanbul. Well, not the _only_ reason why, but it was rapidly moving to the top of the list. Of course they were there to visit the Blue Mosque and the Hagia Sophia and everything else. To spend a dreamy afternoon at the hammam, getting scrubbed down and steaming themselves gently until they emerged into the warm Turkish spring, fragrant and blinking and more relaxed than either had ever believed possible.

But also to eat. They both had indiscriminate tastes and had had plenty of meals from carts in the street as well as Aziraphale treating them to a very, very fancy dinner. And to every dish or little treat or sweetie, Aziraphale smiled and closed her eyes and sighed “Delicious!”, or some variant thereof.

It had started when they arrived, and had got islak burgers before wandering down Istiklal Caddesi, before Aziraphale found a bookshop with some English-language books and Crowley found the little cafe across the street from it. They had each wolfed down two of the greasy, garlicky things, and Aziraphale sighed happily. “Delicious,” she proclaimed them, and had set off along the famous street, some kind of resplendent goddess in her long yellow sundress and her pretty red sandals.

(Crowley might be a little bit gone, she had to admit, running after her pretty girlfriend. She was okay with that.)

Little cups of Turkish coffee, little cups of the sweet rosehip tea. Baklava in spades, so many kinds of baklava! The little round bread-things one bought from a cart in the mornings, sweet fruit and more strong coffee. Spicy kebabs and fish fresh from the sea, and ice cream and candies. They put in their time exploring, just walking the city (Crowley loved the shop that only sold ball-bearings), but mostly they ate, and while they both enjoyed it, it was Crowley who smiled dreamily while Aziraphale tasted something and sighed with pleasure.

(She was beginning to think, quietly, maybe, she might get to spend the rest of her life watching Aziraphale be happy. Helping her be happy of course, but being _there_ , that was the amazing part! Aziraphale was good at being happy, when given the space and the love and just...allowed to be herself.)

Of course, Crowley enjoyed the sights too. She adored the Hagia Sophia, and loved even more just roaming the steep hills, and the day they took the ferry across the Horn and sat on a quiet bench under some trees on the Asian side of the city that spanned two continents. She also enjoyed the food of course, eating as lavishly and widely as Aziraphale did and savouring every moment. She wasn't quite as vocal about it, was all – not about the food, or the sights, or the beauty of the ancient city.

_*_

Crowley was in her favourite spot in the world, her face buried between her girlfriend's legs, nose bumping her clit as she lapped and licked and darted her tongue in and then here and there, the quick, rhythmless teasing that always reduced Aziraphale to absolute jelly. It worked this time too; she could hear her lady moaning, muffled by her own arm (their hotel room wasn't _that_ soundproof), her thighs tense over Crowley's shoulders. She groaned and shifted, encouraging Aziraphale to clamp those powerful thighs around her head and oh glorious day _she did_.

Crowley licked and suckled and nosed and licked some more, tasting Aziraphale's sharp flavour, encouraging her through one orgasm, then another, encouraging her to stay in the intense pleasure for as long as she could until it became too sharp, and Crowley slipped away between now-lax legs, because now it was time for afterglow and cuddles.

“Delicious,” she said, and licked her lips, and went to go lie beside Aziraphale, already holding one arm out and moaning Crowley's name.


	4. Femslash February 2021, Prompt: Note

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Aziraphale away for work, Crowley finds a note she wrote.

Crowley had a lot of talents. She wasn't the kind who doubted her own skill, really. She _knew_ she was good at riding a bike, and writing Amish romances, and getting a corporate Instagram account to suck slightly less. She reckoned she was a pretty good lover, a great girlfriend, and a good driver. So there was a lot she was good at.

Which was why she knew, quite firmly, that she was _very good_ at pouting. And right now she was doing a lot of pouting, because her girlfriend had finally _just_ moved in, and almost immediately had to run off to Scotland for a fortnight for some kind of book repair course.

Crowley was happy for her, of course; she was going to learn so much and half the money that ran the used bookshop in town came from repairs, and now she might be able to take on harder (and thus more expensive) projects. It was a fabulous opportunity, and she was proud as punch when she drove Aziraphale to the train station and sent her on her way with a kiss and a bag of pastries.

But. _But_. Now she had two weeks alone in her house without her cute girlfriend.

It might have been rough enough before Aziraphale moved in – after all, they spent quite a lot of time together, and more nights than not shared a bed at one or the other of their homes. Aziraphale had been reluctant to give up her flat, and Crowley had understood. Poor love; her weird family and Gabrielle's abuse were going to cast a long shadow over her life, and Crowley would definitely yeet herself off of a cliff (...again, she remembered a little guiltily, but on purpose this time) before she pressured Aziraphale into _anything_ relationship-y before she was ready.

But now, almost a decade after they started dating, Aziraphale had decided not to renew her lease, and instead moved in with Crowley, taking the middle bedroom as her office/her own space. They had spent a very happy weekend integrating their things (to say nothing of integrating their _bodies_ atop a pile of flattened boxes) and now there were reminders of Aziraphale _everywhere_.

And Crowley missed her, okay? She missed her girlfriend a lot, and so she moped and pouted and was happy for Aziraphale and really sad for herself, and moped around some more. Two weeks wasn't much, really, but it felt like an _age_ while it was happening, and while she slept on Aziraphale's sheets and cooked in her crockpot and oh all right, cuddled her pillow at night, while one of her framed prints hung over the bed. It was a Georgia O'Keeffe, which just seemed extra-mean.

(Crowley also had easy access to Aziraphale's sex toy collection now, but was too glum to make much use of it.)

So instead she glummed her way around the house, wandering and feeling very lonely and sad and missing her girlfriend. She slipped into the room that had become Aziraphale's office, of a sort, though it still held a small bed, perfect for a nap. Or a little afternoon delight. Maybe one or the other would cheer her up?

Something crinkled as Crowley lay down, and she rolled over a bit, digging under one of the pillows – there!

It was a folded letter with her name written on it. “All right, all right, I'm predictable,” Crowley grumbled aloud. “Don't get smug over this, maybe I was just coming in here to dust, you know.”

Right, because she'd ever dusted before _in her life_.

God, this was going to be sentimental, wasn't it? Crowley hated sentiment and she hated it when Aziraphale was sentimental because it melted her and made her feel soft and loved, and that was just deeply unfair. So with a deep breath, knowing what was coming, she opened the note.

_Jesus Christ, Crowley, did anyone ever teach you about privacy??_

Crowley paused, rested the letter on her chest, and laughed so hard she cried _._ Being known and seen and understood was the absolute _worst_.

_There, now that I've got your attention! You silly girl, are you here being sad? You only ever lie down on my bed when you're blue and don't know how to ask for help, so I'm assuming so._

_I'm sorry I had to go away so soon after such a happy time. I love you for understanding, and being sad for yourself and happy for me. You are_ amazing _. You really are. My poor glum girl; I'll be back soon and we can fuck on every surface of the house – again – and cuddle and build our lives together. It'll be fabulous, and you'll forget these two weeks, and that you were ever lonely._

_Stay in my room tonight. Cuddle up on my little bed and smell my perfume and my candles. You're so generous, to give me a room of my own, a place that is wholly my own; let me give it back to you just for tonight. Be warm and safe and comfortable, all right? Read my books and sleep, and I'll sleep. And I'll be home again soon, but until then, my things can be an avatar for my love._

_There, was that silly and romantic enough for you? I hope so. You make me very, very silly indeed. It's good for me, I guess. I can't believe anyone could miss me, some days, but then you do. And it feels amazing._

_All my love,_

_Aziraphale_

Crowley smiled and hugged the note a little. It was very silly and romantic, and utterly perfect. They were going to facetime that night when Aziraphale got back to her hotel room, and of course she'd be home soon. It was silly to be so sad, but her girl didn't even mind! She understood! It was extraordinary.

“I found your note,” Crowley said later, when they talked. She was tucked up in the bed in the middle room, and it _did_ smell like Aziraphale, her candles and perfume and her general self. She'd taken it over some years before; they really had practically lived together. (To say nothing of – well, it was easier to be in Crowley's house when she was injured, so that was a thing.)

“Good,” Aziraphale said, face softening. “Poor love, are you really lonely?”

Crowley shrugged. “A little. I miss you. I'm keeping busy and all. How's the course going?”

“I love it,” Aziraphale admitted, going a little pink. “I'm getting a lot of ideas for how to get more clients, too. I can really make a difference with this – to the shop, I mean, and of course to people who have something they want fixed. But you know things can get so rough in the off-season, there aren't _that_ many villagers buying antique books...”

“You're gonna be amazing,” Crowley consoled. “Anathema already likes you better than she likes Newt, I think, this is going to send her over the moon.”

Aziraphale giggled, going even pinker. “Still! I'm learning so much. I miss you, but I'm really glad I came.”

“I'll be here waiting for you,” Crowley promised. “Well, I mean, I'll be there picking you up from the train station, but _until_ then, waiting here. Um.”

Aziraphale smiled at her. “Not long now. I mean, really not long. I promise I'll make it up to you.”

“You don't owe me anything!” Crowley protested. “This is a really, really important and good thing for you. Azi, you don't owe me because you're tending to yourself.”

“Forgive me, I said that badly, I think,” Aziraphale said. “How about – I'll be home soon, and I _would_ like to do something special with you. Will you think about what you'd like? Otherwise it'll be a fancy dinner out and some exciting new underwear for both of us again.”

Crowley laughed. “You know I love those nights. But I'll think about something else. Maybe a picnic?”

Aziraphale tilted her head to one side. “I haven't had to take medical leave in years, that might work...”

“Oi!” Crowley was laughing, protesting. “We've had picnics since then!”

“Well, all right then. A picnic, for my girl, when I get back.” Aziraphale grinned wider. “And some exciting new underwear.”

“I love you,” Crowley said happily. They chatted a little longer, mostly about small things, until Aziraphale had to get ready for bed. Considering how she was yawning, Crowley was fixing to kick her off the call anyway.

“Sweet dreams,” she said. “And I _am_ spending the night in your bed, so there.”

Aziraphale giggled, and yawned again. “I love you so, so much, my Crowley-girl. Dream well. I'll see you soon.”

“See you soon,” Crowley said softly. “I love you too. Sweet dreams, honey.”

The call ended, she curled up in bed and hugged a pillow very tightly, just for a moment. Just another week to go, and they'd live together, fall asleep together every night, go on picnics and fancy dinners and un-fancy dinners and running to the cafe of a Saturday morning. Soon.


	5. Femslash February 2021, Prompt: Tease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not that Aziraphale means to be but, well -- she's a *tease*, and Crowley needs to wail about it to a friend. And then give in to the inevitable. (Sex. The inevitable is sex.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: aftermath of injuries, explicit sex in the latter half of the story
> 
> (PS -- if you're familiar with Castle Terra, my OC Asha makes a little cameo here! She's not exactly the same, but mostly so :) )

“Sorry, I'm really not as good a nurse as...anyone, really,” Asha apologised. “Especially not Aziraphale.”

Crowley laughed and tried to help her mop up the water that had spilled down her front. “Aziraphale has had practise. Please don't be sorry, Asha, you're a lifesaver.”

Asha just smiled, and they tried again, this time Crowley actually getting a drink of water. With her arms in plaster, she needed help with...most things, really, especially eating and drinking. Straws could only do so much. And with Aziraphale off for the day at a doctor's appointment, someone really did need to stay with Crowley.

“Well, I can keep you alive 'til she gets back, anyway,” Asha said cheerfully. “Ooooh, is that your engagement ring?”

Crowley preened, moving her arm the little she could to show it off. “Uh huh! Just arrived. Although, honestly, the whole swathes of plaster would probably suffice as a kind of token of our betrothal.”

Asha laughed out loud. “You utter disasters, it _would_ be more you.” She smiled and touched Crowley's forearm. “I know Aziraphale should be all right, but you're going to be okay too, yeah?”

“Right as rain in a few weeks,” Crowley said with a smile for their old friend. “I promise. I didn't even need surgery or anything.”

“Good,” Asha said, and helped Crowley get a little more comfortable. 'Would heal' wasn't the same as 'not uncomfortable now', and it did help if she could recline a bit and keep her arms up on pillows. “Oof, you two. Is it really hard, when you're both laid up?”

“Mmm, a bit. It doesn't happen often. I hate it, when she's hurting and I can't do much,” Crowley admitted. “Or times like now. She ought to rest a lot more than she does, and not worry over things, but she's honestly the more mobile of us in a lot of ways.”

Asha smiled. “She loves you, Crowley. Maybe caring for you brings her joy?”

Crowley ducked her head and smiled. “Still...”

“Trust me, I know this,” Asha said dryly. “I love the girl, but she can go _on_ about you.”

Crowley grinned. “I'm not sorry at all. Although there are _some_ things I miss, at least while we're still in the ouchy stages,” she sighed.

“Can I ask you something tacky?” Asha said.

“Yes, we can have sex like this,” Crowley said.

“Sorry,” Asha admitted, although they were both smiling. “I just...well, I'm curious, really. Aziraphale does _not_ tell me about that, bless her.”

“Yeah, all her energy goes into being a tease,” Crowley grumbled, while Asha snickered. “Don't you laugh at me, lass. You haven't seen her...well, existing. She's still _sexy._ I mean, she's always sexy, but it's like she isn't even trying and that's _worse_ ,” she wailed. “Also, uh. Not to get too into it...”

“I did ask,” Asha said.

“Well, basically we both spend a lot of time not fully clothed,” Crowley said. “Especially her, with her legs the way they are, poor dove. It's just...easier?”

Asha nodded kindly. “Ooof, yeah. I can see her...I mean, the two've you have been together forever now, and she's still, well, rather unconscious of how you feel about her, in a lot of ways. Like, in everyday life. I can see her accidentally being quite the tease.”

“You have _no idea_ ,” Crowley moaned, sliding further down. She winced when her arm hit a table, and was gently but firmly hauled back into place. “She's so sexy. She's _so_ sexy and cute and hot and aaaarghhh. A pair of broken legs change nothing.”

Asha patted Crowley on the head consolingly. “Poor horny ladies,” she cooed.

“Shut up. You got it easy, being aro-ace must be so _peaceful_ ,” Crowley muttered, and Asha fell off of the sofa, she laughed so hard.

“I adore you. Please can we have gossip time lots?” Asha asked, hugging Crowley's legs before she hauled herself back up to sit next to her. “It _is_ peaceful, for the record. Poor lady. You really have sex, though? Even with everything? That sounds like, well, an awful lot of work.”

“Uh huh,” Crowley confirmed. “It takes a lot more planning, and we have to talk about it a lot more – make sure no one's hurting too much or anything. But we can make love, with adaptations. Not to tell you more than you're comfortable with, but – well, literally, we have adaptive stuff. Pillows and wedges, mostly, but also getting creative with...things. I mean, this is temporary for us, but it's not for some people, and they're the real, uh, sexual trailblazers.”

“Of course,” Asha agreed. “Aw, sweetheart. I'm sorry she's a tease.”

“Don't be,” Crowley said, giving into the smile. “She's...amazing. And a tease. But mostly amazing.”

“You have my permission to tease her right back,” Asha said, kissing the top of her head. “Are you hungry? I promise I won't accidentally kill you, probably.”

Crowley laughed, but they did get through lunch – carefully – together. And with only one shirt change required.

Getting ready for bed that night, Crowley was regretting her kind words earlier. Aziraphale _was_ a tease. A completely unconscious one, so Crowley couldn't even be mad at her for it. They were both just in bra and panties, and Aziraphale was wiggling and moving her round arse, her breasts jiggling as she grunted and hauled herself from her wheelchair, and then her legs up and over, and collapsed back with a groan, said delicious legs naturally parted.

Crowley licked her lips. Aziraphale was wearing pink lace panties. They barely covered her bottom. Didn't at all, actually. The dark shadow of her pubic hair was visible, and with the way her legs were lying apart, the damp gusset was on display, a little too narrow to really cover her up. Her breasts were practically spilling out of her bra, pale blue netting and satin and oh _God_.

“Baby,” Crowley croaked, sitting up and twisting. If she could angle herself just right – yes! She could run her bared fingertips along Aziraphale's thigh. Just a few inches not covered by her casts, but oh, she was _so_ soft.

“You horny thing,” Aziraphale said, voice warm and easy.

“It's your fault,” Crowley moaned, and licked her lips. “Please? Please, please, please? I bet I could eat you out?”

Aziraphale laughed softly. “Only if you promise to sit on my face after. I think we can still manage that, don't you?” One of the strange advantages of all their mishaps – they'd worked around limitations before, and had a pretty good idea of what worked and what didn't.

Crowley nodded, and scooted around, moving out of the way. Aziraphale had special cushions for her legs, supporting the bend in the knee and letting her rest and relax, she just had to get them set up the way she liked.

Of course, they also had to undress the rest of the way, which meant Aziraphale undressing them both. With much grunting and wiggling and bending over, she got herself naked, first her breasts then her cunny, scraps of lingerie flung well out of the way. Crowley was easier, technically, but it also meant that she had to turn and kneel and feel Aziraphale undo her bra, slip it off, cup her breasts and kiss the back of her neck.

“You're gorgeous,” Aziraphale whispered. “Oh, my gorgeous. I love you, Crowley.”

“Panties,” Crowley moaned. She _needed_ to be between Aziraphale's legs. They'd have to figure out where to put all the limbs, her stupid broken arms, but there wasn't a thing wrong with her mouth.

“Panties coming up,” Aziraphale soothed, and slid her hand down the front of Crowley's, fingertips dipping between her labia, gliding over her clit and cooing when she found Crowley already wet. “You _are_ horny!”

“You've been wiggling around naked and you were so cute in your little dress and --” Crowley gave up and just moaned as Aziraphale finally, finally got her fully naked. “You tease.”

“Me?” Aziraphale cooed. “I'm just a chubby middle-aged woman, darling. After an accident, even!”

Crowley moaned again. “You're so beautiful. _So beautiful_. And smart and hot and sexy and please please can I eat you out now?”

Aziraphale laughed. “I love you. I really do, my wife-to-be. Oh!” At her words, Crowley had basically flung herself at Aziraphale, kissing her messily, moaning, licking her throat, the soft place that always made Aziraphale moan and go limp.

They really did have to take it slow, though. The careful negotiation of where Aziraphale's legs could go, and Crowley's arms, and making sure no one was hurting, that Aziraphale's legs were supported and Crowley wasn't putting weight on her arms without thinking. The day's appointment had gone well, and Aziraphale's prognosis was good, and neither of them could be so horny as to put that in jeopardy.

So they eased, and talked, and experimented. Pillows and wedges were rearranged, and soft skin was caressed, playful kisses given on bare skin and colourful casts, and they smiled at each other and lost themselves in kisses. Crowley pressed long kisses to the soft folds of Aziraphale's belly and her thighs. And then, finally, pressed her face between Aziraphale's legs, gentle, gentle.

Easy. Careful. Negotiating. One orgasm, then another, and then it was time to switch. This was a little easier, Crowley kneeling over Aziraphale's mouth, her fiancee's strong arms supporting her hips. So deliciously strong, and her tongue hungry and eager. Slow and gentle, just how Crowley liked it, her body which had had such a hard time of it lately now feeling so, so good.

Aziraphale knew how to draw it out, and it was a long time before an orgasm rippled through her, and she sank down, cuddling now between Aziraphale's legs, head on her chest.

“I love you,” she whispered. “I love you so much.”  
“Even if I'm a tease?” Aziraphale murmured.

“'Specially then. You know you're gorgeous, right? That your body's perfect?”  
“I know, Crowley. Shhh, even now. I know. No, move your arm – there, is that better? My poor lass, your poor arms. No, no, everyone fusses over me, I need to fuss over you.”

Crowley smiled. “Asha fussed over me.”

“And that's why she's my best friend, after you.” Soft hands stroking her hair, and Crowley was going to fall asleep like this, pillowed on Aziraphale's body. She could feel the rough casts against her own thighs, and sighed deeper. One of her hands was resting just below Aziraphale's pillow, and she could just touch feather-soft ringlets, Aziraphale's pretty hair. Touch, touch, all she needed was touch. Sex was perfect and good, and they had worked very hard and read a lot and talked to a lot of people to make sure they could still have good sex, but oh, this touch, this closeness. This was why she was marrying Aziraphale.

She tried to say some of this, but Aziraphale shushed her sleepy mumble. Well, she could say it in the morning as they helped each other get ready, preparing to tackle the day together.


	6. Femslash February 2021, Prompt: Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two women, returning home after their wedding.

Aziraphale paused, just for a moment, just inside the gate to their front garden. _Theirs_. Crowley's by virtue of buying the house so many years ago, before they'd even met, and by making it beautiful and full of flowers. Hers because she lived here now, and even before then had helped with the gardening or, when she couldn't do that, had at least helped the gardener, supplying cups of tea and glasses of lemonade and, at the end of the day, glasses of wine. Theirs, because she half-owned the house now, and wholly loved it, and the woman who had bought it.

Theirs, because they were wives now. How funny to think that! They had been married just over six hours, and their little afternoon champagne reception was over and now they were home, and Aziraphale was standing in the garden a married woman. It was summer, and the air was perfumed, and everything was wonderful – the rain had even held off. It had been a bit of a longer engagement than they'd really intended, but that wasn't their fault; they agreed it was worth waiting for their hurts to heal.

(“Of course I'd marry you now,” Aziraphale had said, looking down at herself ruefully, not long after Crowley's proposal, and the aftermath thereof. “Just...well, I'd rather wait?”

“I don't want to marry you if I can't even hug you properly,” Crowley had agreed, twisting so she could rest a hand on Aziraphale's thigh.

So they had waited, until bones healed and limbs grew strong and physical therapy was completed, and a little bit longer to just have fun being engaged and each having a hen do because why not? Then they had to wait a bit longer still; but that's a story for another time. At least they were only banned from Nandos locations in London!)

“Everything all right, angel?” Crowley had caught up to her, and wrapped an arm around Aziraphale's waist, cuddling her close. They had both worn dresses for the wedding itself, Aziraphale in lace and pearls in a classic silhouette, and Crowley in white silk cut tight and modern. She'd changed into a white suit for the reception, while Aziraphale had simply gathered up her train into a bustle, to make it easier to dance together. She felt a bit silly in a dress that required actual structural engineering, but she also felt...special. Beautiful. Even in their everyday front garden.

“Perfect. Everything's perfect.” Aziraphale leaned her head on Crowley's shoulder. “I love you. I'm just...savouring. I'm your wife, now. I'm your wife, standing in our garden. I can't believe it.”

“Believe it,” Crowley advised, turning Aziraphale to kiss her softly. “I love you too. You are _breathtaking_. Come inside, dove, and we'll put our feet up and be married together with a cup of tea.”

Aziraphale giggled and took Crowley's hand. (There would be no carrying anyone over the threshold, neither of them were _quite_ that ready to tempt fate.) They opened the door and walked through, both of them home, together.


End file.
